Without the slightest hesitation, he takes me to the dance floor, and we walk hand in hand like two lovers all the way.
I don’t know if anyone cares to look at us and figure out our story, but it doesn’t require deep thinking to know something’s going on.
I kissed someone else at the table, and now I have the arms of another man around my body, his fingers clasped with mine, his touch tight around my waist, his lips pressed against my temple.
Whoever looks at us must know how warm my skin is and how responsive my body is to his frame.
And if they read into the easiness with which we slowly twirl around, ignoring everybody else, both sunk in thought, they must also know we are more than casual dancers.
“How was your day?” he asks quietly.
I tilt my head back, so our eyes connect.
“It was amazing,” I say, searching his gaze.
He flicks his eyes away to our table––I assume.
“I’m happy to see you two are back together,” he murmurs, flashing a smile before bringing his eyes to me.
“I’m not sure we are together––“
He cuts me off with a slight gesture.
“Don’t even try to convince yourself otherwise.”
He pauses.
“It helps me, actually, to do that,” I say.
His eyes read mine.
“I understand,” he concedes before flashing a grin. “It’s strange, but it helps me to know that you two are back together…” he admits.
It’s my turn to be casual about it.
“I understand,” I say before pondering for a few moments.
“Thinking that I’m with him puts a lot of pressure on me. And we’re not…” I murmur.
He flashes a knowing grin.
“Technically, we’re not together,” I continue.
“Mm-hmm,” he says, his gaze hovering over my collarbones and my necklace.
A pensive look slides over my face.
“The day you no longer wear my gift is the day I know our story ended.”
“Our story doesn’t work like that,” I say.
“How does it work?” he asks, shifting his focus to my eyes.
“Our story had no beginning, so it will never end.”
He seems amused.
“It’s perfect then,” he comments, somewhat entertained.